


Of Leather Jackets and Car Keys

by staymagical



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drunkenness, First Date, Gay Disasters, Hangover, Lance got wasted, M/M, Meet-Cute, Memory Loss, More like meet a mess, Rich Keith, college student lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23800597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staymagical/pseuds/staymagical
Summary: Lance wakes up on Hunk's couch without any recollection of how he got there or what he did the previous night. And he's not entirely sure whose leather jacket he's wearing...“What am I wearing?” Lance glances down at himself and sure enough, he’s donned in a black bomber leather jacket, soft and supple, looking very out of place over his thrifted t-shirt and ratty jeans. Not only because it’s definitely not his but because it’s clearly horribly expensive. And yep, upon closer inspection of the tag, it’s a goddamn Armani.Jesus, who the hell did he get this jacket from?“This is not my jacket,” he mumbles but digs around in the pockets anyway, hoping for his phone. Instead, his fingers brush along metal and as he pulls his findings out, they jingle like—A ring of keys hangs from Lance’s finger and his eyes widen. “Uh, these aren’t mine.”
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 448





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a tweet I read a bit ago and could not get out of my head. So of course, Klance happens

Waking up has never been easy for Lance. One alarm won’t do the trick. Two is a risk. He routinely has to set four to five, a whole symphony orchestra playing in his room before he’ll groan out of bed. It’s a struggle every day but somehow, miraculously he always manages to make it to class on time.

But waking up to his best friend watching him? That’s a new one. 

Lance blinks and then blinks again because Hunk is staring at him with that worried pinch in his brow he gets when he’s about to go soft and caring and  _ concerned _ and Lance isn’t sure his hungover brain can handle that right now.

Hell, his brain can’t even handle being conscious. 

But there are more pressing matters at the moment. “What are you doing in my room?” Lance rasps.

“This isn’t your room, Lance.” Hunk turns to the side, giving Lance a better view of the familiar but definitely-not-his room. He swallows, something resembling panic settling in his gut as his gaze flicks about the yellow living room from the tv he helped Hunk pick out to the soft worn couch he’s laying on. Hunk’s brow pinches further. “You’re in my apartment.”

Usually, that wouldn’t be cause for concern. They shared this apartment together during undergrad and when Lance moved across town for his masters and Hunk’s girlfriend Shay moved in, Lance still spent many a night right here on Hunk’s couch for one reason or another. It was an unspoken rule that Lance was welcome whenever he needed a place to crash.

Except usually when he wakes, he remembers how he got there.

“Jesus,” Lance groans, closing his eyes and taking a much needed deep breath. His brain is foggy, just a haze of nothing from last night—well, actually he’s not sure how long it has been. Or what time it is now for that matter. But judging from the concern on Hunk’s face, it’s clear something happened. 

And he’s the cause of it. 

“How did I get here? What happened?” He hates the way his voice grates against his throat, his mouth tasting of the underside of a dumpster. So, drinking, probably. Would explain the lapse of memory, perhaps. 

“We were hoping you could tell us.”

We. 

Shit. Shay.

Lance bolts upright, hissing as the too-quick too-sudden movement sends a spike of fury through his head. And when he finally squints out at the living room again, guilt flares up at the sight of Shay, settling a glass of water on the coffee table in front of him.

“Hi Lance,” she says and she doesn’t sound pleased but she doesn’t sound angry either. Somewhere in the vein of worry but tipping gently into discontent with every word out of Lance’s mouth.

So, of course, he has to open his mouth again with an eloquent, “Hi.”

Shay nods, as though that answered some internal question and focuses on Hunk. “I’m going to make him some breakfast.” She glances over her shoulder to the clock on the microwave. “Maybe lunch?”

Hunk gets to his feet, half turning toward her. “Are you sure? I can totally—.”

Shay gives Hunk a pointed look that Lance definitely doesn’t miss but decides not to comment on. His brain can barely keep up as it is. Instead, he busies himself with gulping down every drop of water in the glass.

Until Shay’s words finally register. “Wait, lunch?” Lance swings his legs around until he’s sitting properly on the couch, movement slow so as not to anger his headache. “What time is it?”

Hunk checks his phone. “Just a little after eleven.”

Lance groans, thankful it’s Saturday. “Hunk, man, I’m sorry for, uh—” he frowns, waving his hand to encompass all of the unknown, which is, unfortunately, a lot at this moment “—whatever I did or said last night. And for dumping my sorry ass on your stoop.”

“It’s alright,” Hunk assures, expression smoothing into something genuine as he gives Lance’s knee a pat. The guilt around Lance’s heart eases it’s hold a little. “I’m just glad you had the foresight to come here.” He settles into the now empty space beside Lance on the couch, the cushion beneath sagging with the added weight. “So, you don’t remember what you were doing?”

Lance sighs, closing his eyes again and putting a hand to his forehead in a vain attempt to relieve the pounding. “Hunk, my dude, it’s amazing I remember how to form sentences with the drum beating through my skull. A party? At that one bar downtown? I think we were celebrating Jenny getting her paper published.” He shrugs. “All I know is with the way my mouth feels, I drank a lot.”

Hunk lets out a rumbling chuckle. “That is an understatement.”

A chime dings through the living space, cutting through the gentle clattering of dishes from the kitchen and the comfortable silence that has settled over them. Hunk taps his phone to life and Lance just stares at it with something nagging at the back of his head. Something important—

“Where’s my phone?” Lance asks before he fully even registers the words. He runs his hands along the couch, reaching beneath the cushions as Hunk does a precursory glance around. Coming up empty, Lance carefully stands and starts to search his pockets. Jeans first, front and back both horribly empty of anything beyond a gum wrapper and two dimes before he starts patting down his leather jacket.

Wait, leather jacket?

“What am I wearing?” Lance glances down at himself and sure enough, he’s donned in a black bomber leather jacket, soft and supple, looking very out of place over his thrifted t-shirt and ratty jeans. Not only because it’s definitely not his but because it’s clearly horribly expensive. And yep, upon closer inspection of the tag, it’s a goddamn Armani.

Jesus, who the hell did he get this jacket from? 

“This is not my jacket,” he mumbles but digs around in the pockets anyway, hoping for his phone. Instead, his fingers brush along metal and as he pulls his findings out, they jingle like—

A ring of keys hangs from Lance’s finger and his eyes widen. “Uh, these aren’t mine.” 

Across from him, Hunk goes ashen and Lance watches the panic take over before he even opens his mouth. “Did you steal a car?!”

The room goes quiet, the previous cling of dishes in the kitchen ceasing.

“What? No!” Lance hastens to assure before he remembers that well, he has no ground to stand on with that statement seeing as he doesn’t remember anything about last night. “At least, I don’t think so?” 

Which, of course, doesn’t placate Hunk in the least bit. But Lance wouldn’t steal a car, he knows he wouldn’t. Harmless pranks and humorous jokes are his specialties, not anything that would land him a stint in jail. Not knowingly, at least.

This isn’t his style. 

And Hunk knows that but he has eyes only for the illicit keys still dangling off Lance’s finger. He points to the bright red car key on the ring. “Lance, that’s a Ferrari! You stole a Ferrari?!”

“I didn’t steal anything!” Lance says louder this time, finally having the wherewithal to shove the keys back into the pocket and out of sight. As if that will make them both forget they exist. “They must belong to whosever jacket this is.” He pats the pockets in vain again, eyes flicking around the room. “Fuck, where is my phone?”

They resume the search for a few tense moments before Lance, with a crow of triumph, manages to find it sitting innocently by his overturned shoes in the entryway.

He taps the screen. “Shit, it’s dead,” he groans, tapping it a few more times in misplaced hope. “Hunk—”

But Hunk is already up and heading toward the bedroom. “I’ll get you a charger.”

Lance fiddles with his phone, turning it over and over in his hand in a nervous tick. A little bit of memory lapse was enough to worry about but now, he’s got a mysterious stranger’s very expensive jacket—and wow, okay whoever he is, he smells damn good—and keys to his very expensive car with no clue as to who he is or how to get them back to him. 

Perhaps it would be best to start at the beginning. He needs to call Jenny and figure out what she knows about who he might have been with and what he had done.

Oh god, he hadn’t even considered if they—if he and the guy—how far—

Nope, that’s a concern for later. Right now, he just needs to focus on contacting Jenny. Right after he charges his phone.

Hunk returns, expression softer with charger in hand and Lance wastes no time plugging in. “Thanks,” he says, guilt flaring back up. He doesn’t deserve Hunk. “Sorry, again. I swear I would never steal a car.”

Hunk sighs, laying a hand on his shoulder as they both sink back down on the couch. “I know you wouldn’t, I’m sorry for overreacting. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He chuckles with a shake of his head and a playful elbow to Lance’s side. “Even if you did steal a Ferrari and bring the cops to my door.”

“Hunk!”

* * *

Lance presses his lock button again and grumbles, his phone remaining irritatingly black. He’s not in a hurry, per se but there’s this nagging feeling in the back of his mind telling him he’s missing something. 

Like all of his memories from last night.

And the answers are on the other side of a phone call. If his phone would just  _ wake up already _ .

With one last vain attempt, Lance sighs, setting his phone down on the end table and leaning back against the couch. “So, um, what time did I get here last night?”

Hunk mirrors his movement, settling further into the cushions. “A little after three. Woke up to you knocking down the door slurring something about mullets and losing at pool. Nearly face-planted when I opened it.” He chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Scared Shay half to death.”

“Oh god,” Lance groans, burying his head in his hands. What the hell is wrong with him? He drank sometimes, yes, like every rational college student but only once or twice had he gotten so wasted that he didn’t remember parts of the night. But never this bad. It hadn’t been a huge celebration, at least not for him, so what made last night different from the others? What made him lose all inhibitions and self-control and drink the night away? 

Suddenly, the leather jacket feels a little heavier on his shoulders.

Shay chooses that moment to join them in the living room, food in hand and Lance whips his head up to grovel. “Shay, I’m so sorry. I have no excuse for what happened.” He looks between her and Hunk, guilt gnawing at his bones. “I owe you two big time.”

“You can start by eating this,” Shay says, her earlier mood replaced with a soft smile as she sets a bowl of oatmeal in front of Lance. He’s grateful, so grateful to her but eyes the bowl with trepidation, knowing he should definitely eat something but also unsure if he  _ can _ . Just the thought of food makes his stomach churn in protest. 

God, he never wants to drink again. Ever. 

That’s definitely a lie, but it's the thought that counts, right?

Lance returns Shay’s smile anyway with a polite, “Thank you,” as Shay sets a sandwich in front of Hunk and plops down in the chair with her own. 

She nods, picking up her sandwich and pointedly looking down at his bowl and back. “Eat. You’ll feel better.”

He’s not too sure about that but does as he’s told anyway.

* * *

“So I talked to Jenny,” Lance announces walking back into the room, the leather jacket now folded over his arm. Shay and Hunk look up with curiosity. “Probably woke her up actually. Anyway, all she remembered was seeing me flirting with a black-haired—and I quote—‘hot juicy snack.’” Lance air-quotes with his fingers for emphasis. “Which is as unhelpful as it is an ego boost.”

And he winks for good measure.

Damn, Shay was right, he does feel better. Not great, his brain is still resentful of being conscious, but better. The four glasses of water definitely helped.

Hunk frowns. “Did she mention anyone else at the party?”

“Oh yeah, I already texted Brandon and Shelly.” Lance pulls up their text messages and summarizes them. “Neither recognized the guy but said the same thing: we played pool, danced, flirted outrageously, I was drunk off my ass—well aware of that fact—and left around 2:50 to head here.” He locks the screen and slips his phone back into his pocket. “So in conclusion, I still have mad game.”

He smirks. Yeah, he definitely needs to see this man. Maybe he can remind Lance  _ exactly _ what it is they did last night. Over dinner. And dessert.

But Lance is getting ahead of himself. For all he knows, both his and Jenny’s beer goggles were tampering with reality a bit and this hot juicy snack could turn out to be two water crackers and a peanut. Deep pockets, yes, but not fulfilling in the areas that matter.

Hunk shakes his head. “And yet, here you are,” he says, gesturing at Lance and what he has to show for it. Or lack thereof.

Lance points a finger at him. “Shut it, I’ve just got to retrace my steps and find him. Somehow.” It won’t be easy with so little to go off of but it’s all he can do. With a shrug, Lance walks over to the front door and starts pulling on his shoes. “It’s like a weird reverse Cinderella. Except I didn’t steal his heart, just his jacket and keys.”

Hunk stands up, frowning. “Where are you going?”

“I need to go back to the bar,” Lance says even though his body and head disagree with what he wants to do, he knows he can’t lay around like he wants to. He has this guy’s keys for crying out loud. Those are kind of important.

But Hunk’s frown just deepens and he takes a step toward Lance. “And do what? Ask around? ‘Excuse me I’m looking for the hot juicy snack I was with last night, can you tell me where I might find him?”

“Not sure what other option there is,” Lance says honestly, giving his shoelace a final tug before standing up. “That’s the last place I saw him.”

Hunk doesn’t even hesitate, joining Lance by the door and slipping on his own shoes. “I’m going with you.”

Part of Lance is relieved, thankful to have someone with him through this mess. But the other part feels the guilt rear its ugly head. He can’t ask more of Hunk when he’s already put his friend out so much the past ten hours.

Hunk would say it’s what friends do. Lance would agree but silently think  _ he _ should not have drunk so much as to put Hunk in that position in the first place.

But if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t even think twice about going above and beyond for his friend.

“You don’t have to,” Lance protests weakly. “It’s a short walk, I’ll be fine.”

“What if he turns out to be a murderer?”

“Pretty sure I would be dead in a ditch right now if that was the case.”

Hunk gasps. “Oh god, don’t even joke like that. It’s not funny.”

“Sorry.” Lance winces because okay yeah, that’s a little too real. He sighs, meeting Hunk’s worried gaze. “Look, I’ll be fine but you are welcome to tag along if it makes you feel better,” he finishes. And then for a little levity, smirks and tacks on a quick, “Just no cock-blocking.”

“Seriously?” Hunk deadpans. “You don’t even remember this guy.”

Lance pulls open the door and with a wave goodbye and another “thank you” to Shay, says, “Well, then let’s go refresh my memory.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Creating April Showers Challenge Day 21, 22, 23, 24

“So, what exactly is the plan?” Hunk asks as they round the corner and the bar comes into sight. Lance doesn’t miss the skepticism in his voice. Honestly, he doesn’t blame him. He wouldn’t really trust himself at this moment either, running off the dregs of anxiety as he is and a need to fill the gnarling empty hole in his memory.

But really, there’s a mystery in the form of a leather jacket and set of keys that is begging to be solved. And he loves a good mystery, apparently even at his own expense. 

He’s just dying to meet the man on the other side of it.

So Lance shrugs, his sneakers scraping against the pavement as they approach the bar and hopefully, the answers to his questions. “Ask around? See if anyone has been by looking for their stuff?”

Beside him, Hunk sighs and Lance can hear the exasperation in his voice as he says, “Lance, it’s not even one yet. The bar isn’t open, nobody will be there.”

“I don’t know, okay?” Lance concedes, throwing his arms up, the leather jacket swinging wildly over his forearm. The hope inside him dies a little with his own admission. He was stupid to have come down here so soon, he knew that the second they walked out the door. But more than that, he feels worse that Hunk joined him on this wild goose chase of his own making. “I had kind of hoped maybe I’d remember something. A face, a name, something.”

They’re nearing the bar now, just a few steps away. A car speeds past, windows down, music blaring as Lance slows, his stomach clenching with equal measure of giddiness and trepidation.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Hunk shaking his head. “You know that’s not how it works. Do you need me to explain how alcohol and the brain don’t mix?”

Lance winces. “No, Pidge’s speech was enough.”

It was hard to forget that morning. Only the second time he had ever woken up after blacking out from a night of drinking—celebrating his acceptance into the masters program so it was a completely valid reason—and Pidge had laughed when he’d flippantly said it was only a brief spat of amnesia. Cue a long-winded lecture of the effects of excessive alcohol on the brain that Lance only half-listened to. But what he had heard was that no, he wasn’t getting the memories back because there were no memories to get back. His brain had been drowning in so much alcohol that it failed to store new memories. 

And now he’s gone and repeated the process. Consider the lesson not learned. Pidge was going to lord this over him for months.

Lance groans, coming to a stop in front of the heavy windowless bar door. He can tell at a glance that, despite his feeble hope, Hunk was right. And when he pulls on the handle and the door doesn’t budge, it further backs up his statement.

The bar isn’t open and Lance is out of luck.

He pulls on it a few more just to put in the maximum effort before flopping back against the wall of the bar with a defeated, “Damn.”

“I don’t want to tell you I told you so but—” Hunk gestures to the door with a raised eyebrow.

Lance waves his hand, his heart weighted as he slowly pushes off the wall and takes a few aimless steps down the pavement, not sure what to do now that his fool-hearted plan has fallen through. “Yeah yeah, I know. I fucked up. Add it to the growing list, my dude.”

Across the street, a young man catches Lance’s eye as he looks both ways before dashing out in the space between cars to their side. Even through his dashed hopes, Lance watches him, curiosity peaked. 

And his hope sparks back to life as the young man makes a beeline for the bar door.

“Hey!” Lance shouts, turning back around in a hurry as he sees the young man fish keys out of his pocket to unlock the door. The man looks up, startled, his dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes and Lance forces himself to slow his gait as he approaches, an easy-going friendly smile spreading across his lips. “Hi sorry, do you work here?”

The young man frowns, wary. “Yeah.”

“Awesome.” Lance blows out a breath, the giddiness returning tenfold and overshadowing any nerves he still harbors. “I was here last night and met this guy—”

But the young man cuts him off, voice sharp with irritation. “Look dude, I just work in the kitchen, I can’t help you find your  _ lost love _ .”

And with that he swiftly pulls the door open and slams it behind him with a final click of the bolt.

For a minute, Lance stares at the unmoving door, unable to process what the hell had just happened with the remnants of his hangover still muddling his brain. It isn’t until a warm comforting hand claps him gently on the shoulder that he startles back to himself, eyes snapping to Hunk beside him.

“Well, that went well,” Hunk says with a nod toward the door. Lance glances back to where his only hope died unceremoniously. “And what have we learned here today?”

“Kitchen boys are dicks,” Lance grumbles, turning away from the bar and back the way they came, defeat slumping his shoulders.

“No”

“I should not be drinking without adult supervision.”

“No—well yes, but not what I was getting at.” Hunk falls into step beside him, his arm settling around his shoulders in support. “A plan Lance, you need a better plan than just rushing off to follow your heart.”

Lance groans. “I know, I know. If you have any suggestions I’m all ears.”

Hunk just shrugs and Lance can tell he has as many solutions to this problem as he does. Idly, Lance rubs his hand along the soft leather of the jacket, taking comfort in its weight. 

“Let’s—

But before Hunk can say anything more, he’s interrupted when someone behind them clears their throat.

“I believe that’s mine.”

* * *

Lance whips around faster than his hangover can handle and he nearly topples over right there on the pavement. But he catches himself in time, eyes immediately drawn to the figure standing just a few feet from them, hands in the pockets of fitted jeans. Lance chokes on his next breath.

Jenny wasn’t lying. If anything, her description didn’t do him justice.

Hot. Damn.

Dark hair teases the balance between unruly and crafted, falling into guarded grey-blue eyes and kissing the juncture of his neck and shoulder. There’s no doubt in Lance’s mind, even if the young man hadn’t spoken up that this is him, the mystery unveiled, the face behind the leather jacket and keys that Lance had been yearning for. And even as he stands before Lance, casual and seemingly nonchalant, there’s a tilt to his shoulders and shift in his stance that betrays his caution, his nerves. It sets Lance at ease if only just a fraction.

Because he’s not sure if he’s ever seen someone so goddamn breathtaking in his life. He’s in nothing but unassuming dark jeans and a just as dark t-shirt but the cut and expert tailoring betray the high quality and show off his lean fit frame. Lance’s heart pounds, squeezing, and at that moment, he knows that despite last night, he’ll never forget this man. No matter how the next few minutes play out.

And that, more than anything, scares him.

“It’s you,” Lance finally manages to breathe. But it’s lost again as the man’s lips tug up at the corners and a very faint blush appears high on his cheeks. Lance’s heart skips a beat.

Shit, he’s in trouble.

“Hey,” the young man replies, voice soft with something Lance can’t quite interpret.

A million questions blur through Lance’s mind, questions about last night, their activities, his goddamn life story even. But instead, the first thing that pops out is, “How did you get here?”

And as soon as the words escape his lips a flush of embarrassment heats his cheeks. 

He’s making a great first impression. Well, first sober impression, that is.

The young man frowns. “Drove,” he says, confused.

“But,” Lance pauses, looking down at the jacket over his arm just to make sure it’s still there and then back at the young man. “I have your keys.”

“And I have my brother.” He sounds amused now as he glances back down the pavement and thumbs to a sleek black Tesla idling next to the curb. Lance raises his eyebrow at the car, knowing he shouldn’t be surprised but he’s still taken aback and the luxury car. There’s someone in the front seat, indistinguishable through the reflection of the buildings in the windshield but Lance thinks he can make out a hand waving. Hesitantly, he waves back. 

The young man shoves his hand back in his pocket and continues, “Had to crash at his place last night when I discovered my keys had run off with my jacket.”

“Right,” Lance says. This is the moment where he hands the man his jacket but a part of him doesn’t want to. It’s silly and stupid but he also thought love at first sight was in that same bracket and yet—

And yet, here he is.

God, in the span of a minute, this man has him questioning things he thought were just myths, cracking truths he believed were concrete and that terrifies him even more. He doesn’t even know the guy’s name for crying out loud.

Well, no time like the present. Lance sticks out his hand. “I’m Lance, by the way.”

The man raises his eyebrow. “Yes, I know,” he says, looking pointedly to his jacket on Lance’s arm. But a smile cracks over his lips. “We met last night.”

Lance winces, his stomach plummeting. “Sorry,” he says softly, apologetic and guilty, “it’s all a bit hazy. Actually, I don’t remember most of anything that night.”

“Oh.” Something resembling disappointment flashes across the young man’s face but it’s gone so fast, Lance is sure he imagined it. He takes Lance’s offered hand. “Keith.”

Keith. Even his name sends a thrill of excitement through his body. “Lance,” he repeats before he realizes what he’s said. “Right, already did that.” His blush deepens and he ducks his head, releasing Keith’s hand quickly with mounting embarrassment. The jacket still hangs innocently off his arm. “Oh, this is yours, of course. Keys are still in the pocket.”

Somehow handing the jacket over feels like an end, the final chapter in this short-lived unreciprocated love story and Lance feels it’s loss immediately. His last connection to this enigma of a gorgeous stranger.

“Thanks.” Keith’s tone is lower, solemn, a disheartened cadence to his otherwise husky voice and Lance frowns. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Keith was just as engaged in whatever this is as he is. But how could he? Unless there’s something Lance is missing.

Of course, there is. A whole night’s worth of…activities.

Lance licks his lips and oh okay, he definitely doesn’t miss the way Keith’s eyes flick down to follow the movement. “So, uh about last night. Did we uh—how far did—what did we do?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Lance sees Hunk slink off down the pavement and away from the conversation, leaving the two of them alone. He had almost forgotten he was there, so focused as he was on Keith and the rolling emotions the sight of him sparked in Lance.

Keith chuckles, shoulders easing into a relaxed slope. “We didn’t have sex if that’s what you’re getting at. Made out pretty heavily in the bathroom though.” His eyes glint, expression turning into fond amusement. “You’re quite handsy when drunk.”

Cold dread seeps through Lance’s body even as his cheeks flare red hot. “Oh god, I am so sorry. I swear I’m not usually like that.”

But Keith just chuckles again, grin splitting his face wider as he waves off Lance's apology. “It’s fine, believe me. I would have returned in kind if you were a bit more sober but as it was I didn’t think you were of the right mindset to consent to much.”

And that does it.

“Who the fuck are you?” Lance blurts out over the rushing in his head, the static beating of his heart.

Keith blinks, startled for a beat before frowning. “What?”

“No, really,” Lance asks. He takes an unconscious step in Keith’s direction, eyeing him, looking him over for flaws or kinks in his armor that  _ just aren’t there _ . “Who are you? Because right now, I’m half-convinced I’m still dreaming. Guys like you don’t  _ exist _ .”

Everything inside Lance is screaming, begging him to either surge forward and claim what the fire inside him wants or run off down the street and disappear around the block, never to see Keith again. Because with every word Keith says, Lance’s heart falls a little bit more and that’s not how things go. That’s not the way the world works, people don’t just come in off the street and waltz straight into your heart with nothing more than a single drunken night that you can’t even remember!  _ It just doesn’t happen. _

Keith’s frown deepens. “Guys like me?”

Lance waves a hand at him, encompassing all that he is. “Gorgeous, loaded, respectful, considerate.” 

“You think I’m gorgeous?”

“Oh, like you don’t know,” Lance sneers without malice. He groans. “God, I can’t believe I blacked out a whole night with you. Talk about biggest regrets.”

“I’d be happy to give you a recap over dinner tonight.” There’s a smug inflection in Keith’s tone and the expression to match, sharp smile cracking across his lips. 

Oh, okay, two can play that game.

Lance steps forward, closing the space between them until there’s only a foot left. It’s still too much. He gives a contemplative hum, pretending to ponder the offer as he watches Keith, his heart rabbiting beneath his ribs. “You’ll have to be thorough. I might even require a reenactment.”

The smug smile grows on Keith’s face until Lance can see the white of his teeth. “If it’ll help jog your memory.” 

Lance hopes it’ll do more than just jog his memory. Maybe create new ones. Memories that’ll last longer than just one night. 

His stomach flips, a giddy tingle building in his stomach and he finds he likes the feeling. The start of something new, of something with real potential that he hasn’t felt in a prospective relationship in—well ever. There’s no telling where this will lead or what the future may hold, but he doesn’t care. He’s just excited for the journey.

Lance grins, pulling out his phone and flipping it around for Keith to tap in his number. “And I’m buying.”

Keith shakes his head with a wicked smile. “Not a chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May continue this. We shall see...
> 
> Check out my Instagram for more Klance and VLD drabbles and short fics: [staymagwrites](https://www.instagram.com/staymagwrites/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, some more!
> 
> Date time is next, I promise.

Pidge shifts, the armchair sighing as she folds her legs under her and pushes her glasses further up her nose. “Wait, wait, wait, let me get this straight.”

“Ain’t nothing straight about it,” Lance snorts. Next to him, Hunk shakes his head but there’s a smile teasing the corner of his lips. 

“Hush.” Pidge waves her hand at Lance but his grin only widens. 

He can’t help it. He hasn’t been able to stop smiling since they left the bar.

He’s on a whole different plane of existence. Full of giddy energy and happiness and just downright obnoxious he’s sure, talking poor Hunk’s ear off all the way back to his apartment. About Keith, about their plan for dinner that night, about the ten-digit number that elevates his phone from necessary to irreplaceable. And somewhere in the hour that followed Pidge found out—Lance suspects Hunk but Shay could have also been the culprit with how close those two have gotten recently. It’s frightening actually—and blew in the apartment like a whirlwind, spewing questions and jabs alike.

Pidge leans forward, holding up a hand and ticking off her fingers one by one. “You met a guy at a bar last night, got horribly drunk, stole his wildly expensive jacket and keys—”

“Didn’t steal anything.”

“—woke up having blacked out the entire night including said guy, somehow found him, and now you’re dating?!” She throws her arm up at that last statement, slapping them back down on the armrests of the chair with a muffled _ thud. _

Lance shakes his head. “No. It’s a date. Singular. Just one,” he corrects and he means to sound serious but just the thought of seeing Keith, of the possibility of  _ dating _ Keith sends a swarm of butterflies through his stomach. His cheeks redden.

“That’s dating you numbskull,” Pidge deadpans. On the floor next to her chair, Shay nods in agreement.

Lance huffs a laugh. “Numbskull? Who the hell uses that anymore.”

Unmoved, Pidge points a threatening finger at him. “Me. It suits you perfectly. Don’t change the subject.” She turns questioning eyes to Hunk. “Hunk?”

Hunk just shrugs, eyes flicking over to Lance as he settles further into the cushions of the couch. “I only witnessed about half of it but yeah, pretty much the gist of it.”

Pidge collapses back into the armchair. “I can’t believe this.”

Lance laughs, the butterflies in his stomach calming to a gentle flutter as he finds common ground with Pidge. “I honestly can’t quite believe it myself but, apparently the boy can’t get enough of this.” He gestures to himself, before leaning back with a smug smirk.

“He melted into a drooling puddle at the guy’s feet.” Hunk ignores Lance’s squeak of protest. “I had to make a quick escape before I contracted secondhand embarrassment.”

“Aw come on, I wasn’t that bad,” Lance groans. Except yes, yes he was. And he still is. The confidence, the suave persona, it’s all a charade, a bravado he puts on. Because inside he’s a nervous wreck. Excited and happy and thrilled at the prospect of seeing Keith again and what may come to be but he also feels like he may throw up. And it’s not the hangover talking. He glares at Hunk. “Don’t give her ammunition.”

Pidge just smirks, eyes glinting. “As if I don’t have a whole stockpile already.”

Lance groans again, falling back against the couch and throwing an arm over his eyes. The nerves are increasing as he plays back the conversation. Yes, Keith had seemed interested but Lance had done a damn good job of playing the fool. And a guy like that could get anyone he wanted so why the hell had he given Lance the time of day? He’s a broke-ass college student with self-confidence issues, anxiety, and student debt up to his eyeballs. No one wants to inherit that baggage least of all someone like Keith. He could do so much better.

“Hey.” Hunk’s voice, low but firm and he settles a warm hand on Lance’s shoulder, interrupting his spiraling. “No. Don’t. Everything is going to be fine.”

On autopilot, Lance nods, unsure if he believes Hunk or not but taking comfort in his words nonetheless. Hunk gives his shoulder a squeeze, glancing over at Shay on the floor and exchanging a silent look.

Shay perks up then, all smiles and chipper happiness. “So what time is the date?” 

Lance can tell she’s trying and he's so grateful. A distraction is nice, always welcome. An excuse to keep up the confident charade until he starts to believe it himself. 

“Eight,” he says, and the excited butterflies retake flight in his stomach as he remembers the curve of Keith’s lips and the way his eyes lit up as Lance returned his grin. He ducks his head, blushing. “He said he’d pick me up.”

Something dangerously close to smug glee radiates from Pidge and she quirks her brow. “In his Ferrari?”

Lance shrugs. “I guess so?” But he freezes, suddenly acutely aware that Keith has  _ money. _ “Shit, do you think we’re going somewhere fancy? Do I need to look nice? I don’t think I own a tie?!”

“Relax,” Hunk says. “Just ask him?”

Lance chokes on his next breath, sputtering. “I can’t ask him that?! I’ll look like an idiot!”

Across the room, Pidge chuckles. “More than you have already? Once more won’t hurt.”

“Pidge,” Shay hisses, jabbing her elbow into Pidge’s leg. Pidge has the decency to look somewhat mollified though the glint in her eye hasn’t diminished. 

“Look,” Hunk says, squeezing Lance’s shoulder once more to draw his attention. “You can either ask him, look like an idiot—as you claim—and be prepared, or guess, hope you don’t choose wrong and spend the whole night self-conscious.”

Lance can’t argue that point. Though the thought of texting Keith something so silly and trivial still makes his insides twist. 

_ It’s not silly if it’s important to you. _

“Fine,” he nods, pulling out his phone and unlocking it. “I’ll text him.”

The couch cushion shifts beneath Lance as Hunk gets up and pads over to the kitchen calling for drink requests. Lance tunes them out and taps out a quick text to Keith, frowning as he reads it over before deleting it entirely and starting fresh. Type, read, erase, repeat. Nothing sounds right, nothing sounds nonchalant or smooth or good enough until finally with a huff, he taps out a fleeting text, and before he second-guesses himself, sends it off. 

Then he promptly throws his phone to the other side of the couch with a  _ meep! _

“Wow,” Pidge drawls, her face positively gleaming. “I don’t even have to do a thing. This is gold.”

“Shut up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my Instagram for more Klance and VLD drabbles and short fics: [staymagwrites](https://www.instagram.com/staymagwrites/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. Date night.
> 
> So I had planned to get right into the date but then this pre-date time basically wrote itself. The boys wanted it, who am I to deny them.
> 
> Enjoy!

Lance’s heart tries to rabbit out of his chest when his phone chimes.

Not unlike the last fifteen times his phone has gone off since he’d asked his idiotic silly question—and received an answer that quieted his fear. But this is different.

Because it’s ten to eight and Lance hasn’t stopped moving. 

In fact, he’s not sure he can. Twenty minutes ago, after finally settling on a shirt that didn’t scream buried-under-a-mountain-of-student-debt and wrangling his hair into something resembling acceptable, he sat down for all of five seconds only to get up when he noticed a plate he’d left out in the kitchen. Which led to straightening the pillows on his bed, throwing his shoes in the hall closet, rearranging the few pictures he has on his dresser, and lamenting about living in a small studio apartment as he struggles to find space for his textbooks.

And it shouldn’t matter— _ it doesn’t matter _ —what his place looks like. They aren’t dining in, he’s not hosting. Keith isn’t going to come strolling into his place, take one look at his unswept floor, turn up his nose, and walk out.

But he might.

So Lance panics. He cleans. And then his phone chimes.

Lance sets his succulent plant back down on the windowsill, deeming its original location decent enough in favor of picking up his phone.

**Be there in five.**

He knew it would be Keith even before he’d looked at the text but seeing the simple sentence still sends butterflies fluttering through his stomach and his heart racing. Until the words sink in.

Shit, he’s early.

Lance drops his phone on his bed, dashing into the bathroom to ensure his hair hasn’t gone wildly astray. It doesn’t make sense to panic, he’s ready, he’s been ready for a while now but something about having his ten minutes of anxiety-riddled time cut down to five sends him into even more of a panic and goddamn it calm the fuck down Lance.

It’s fine. Everything is fucking fine.

He takes a breath. Then another. Gives his shirt a tug back into place.

“It’s just a date,” he tries to convince his reflection. “You’ve done this before.”

But somehow, this feels different. He’s not sure if it’s the strange way in which this all began or if it’s because he’s already hooked so hard on this man he barely knows, but either way this is different.

Another breath. Two.

Until a knock at the door cuts through the silence.

Lance startles so bad, he nearly loses his footing on the bathroom tiles. Damn, how long had he been standing here trying to psych himself up? Five minutes went by a lot faster than he anticipated.

With one more glance at himself in the mirror, Lance exhales his worries and nods to his reflection before striding out of the bathroom and throwing open the front door before he can overthink it.

The world stops.

It’s been seven hours since he last saw Keith, that thick brow and long lashes framing such expressive eyes but Lance is certain it could be seven seconds and he’d feel no different. Like there’s an electrifying current trying burst from his chest, a rolling turmoil of euphoria that can barely be contained swirling around in his gut. And as a smile cracks across Keith’s lips, spreading like wildfire until his eyes crinkle at the corners and a faint blush has taken root in his cheeks, well, Lance is sure he truly does melt at his feet, grinning like a love-sick puppy.

“Damn,” he breathes as he loses all higher brain function at the sight of his date. 

_ His date _ . 

Keith chuckles, giving Lance a slow once over in return and Lance doesn’t even have a moment to feel self-conscious before a spark of approval tips Keith’s smile into lustful as he responds, “Hello yourself,” in a voice like rich velvet. There’s a crinkle of tissue paper and a rustle of clothing and it’s only then that Lance realizes Keith’s holding something and tears his focus from the blush darkening across Keith’s cheeks to the bouquet of flowers he’s presenting. “Uh, these are for you.”

Flowers.

Keith got him fucking flowers.

Lance isn’t sure what he’s feeling, not sure if he can discern all the emotions whirling around inside him let alone just pick one to focus on. There's too much and all at once he’s overwhelmed and Keith is standing there, looking like a goddamn dream with  _ goddamn flowers!  _ So all that comes out of his mouth is an eloquent wide-eyed, “Oh. Shit.”

Keith’s face falls. “Too much?” he asks, wincing as he makes to pull back the bouquet and that if anything snaps Lance out of his shock. “Sorry. I really shouldn’t take advice from my brother.”

“No, no,” Lance hurries to reassure, taking the bouquet from Keith’s hand. It’s a beautiful arrangement, light orange ranunculus’ and soft delicate lilacs with a single cream rose nestled on the side and a long blossom of blue delphiniums to top it all off. Something warm springs to life in his heart. “I uh—wow. I’ve never gotten flowers before? Is that weird?”

Keith shrugs but his lips quirk and Lance breathes a silent sigh of relief. “Well, I’ve never given them so guess we’re both out of our element. If it’s too much though I can—”

“Nope, these are mine now,” Lance teases, cradling the bouquet against his chest and twisting a step back out of Keith’s reach. He peers down at the flowers as the warmth in his heart spreads to his cheeks. “Thank you. I love them.”

“You’re welcome.” Keith softens into something genuine and sincere and Lance can’t take it.

“Let me just—uh one second.” He turns away before he does something stupid and goes to search his cabinets for a vase or a glass or anything really, it doesn’t matter. He just needs an excuse to step away from Keith for a moment, to calm his racing heart and quell his errant tongue until he’s sure he won’t go off spewing love ballads to the first guy who gave him flowers. No matter how profoundly perfect he may seem.

Oh, he’s in deep. So so deep.

When he finds the perfect glass Lance can’t help but chuckle to himself. It’s a beer glass, one he stole a year ago from the very bar he met Keith at. He shakes his head as he fills it with water before carefully placing the bouquet in it and setting it on his counter.

Keith is still waiting patiently out on the stoop and guilt wraps around Lance’s gut as he remembers he didn’t actually invite him in before disappearing. Damn, he really needs to up his game if he’s going to have any hope of keeping up with Keith and all his chivalry.

But Keith’s smile just widens when he returns, keys jingling as he extracts them from his pocket. “Ready?”

A shiver of anticipation rolls down Lance’s spine and he pulls his door closed behind him, locking it. The nerves are there, they’re always there churning in his gut but he’s too excited now to pay them much mind. There’s something about Keith, something so casual and real and honest that it overshadows Lance’s anxiety and brings the thrill of the night to the forefront. It opens up doors Lance had been told were firmly closed on a first date, unspoken rules and regulations disappearing with a curl of lips and sweep of long eyelashes.

So Lance lets go and just falls in.

He reaches out as Keith turns away, grabbing his hand and giving it a tug until he pulls Keith stumbling flush against his chest, his startled wide blue-grey eyes level with his.

Then he gives in to his yearning and kisses Keith right there in the hallway. It’s not perfect, probably more reminiscent of the drunken kisses they shared in the bar bathroom but Keith doesn’t seem to care as he practically melts against Lance, fingers twining into his shirt almost instinctively. It feeds the fire in Lance, his confidence surging as he slows the urgency, easing into something tender and raw and oh so soft. Keith follows his lead, lips moving with his, hand sliding across Lance’s waist in a gentle caress.

_ This _ . This is what he was missing from last night. It doesn’t matter if he never learns what else he did, if he never gets back the conversations or things he said. This is all he needs.

They break apart much too soon for Lance’s liking but he can’t contain his smile any longer. And it seems neither can Keith.

With a brush of his pinky against Keith’s hand, Lance laces their fingers together loosely and pulls him along down the hallway. “Now, I’m ready.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my Instagram for more Klance and VLD drabbles and short fics: [staymagwrites](https://www.instagram.com/staymagwrites/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is maybe the final part, haven't decided yet. You'll see why at the end. 
> 
> Make sure to read the end notes and if you have opinions, comment, let me know :)
> 
> UPDATE: A oneshot continuation of this story is in the works so stay tuned :D

Apparently, Lance is a big talker when drunk.

Okay, yes, he knew that already. Pidge and Hunk don’t exactly let him forget that little detail after every imbibing occasion. But he never really understood just how much until he’s sitting across from Keith at a softly lit table on the patio of the new local restaurant, gentle music playing overhead, having details of his life he doesn’t remember divulging recited back to him.

“This is so not fair,” Lance whines, taking a swig of his drink for something to do. He’s not used to people listening to him when he talks let alone remembering details and _asking questions_. It makes that warmth inside him burn hot. 

Keith raises an eyebrow. “What is?”

“All of this,” Lance says, waving his hand. “I feel so out of the loop here.”

Before Keith can respond, the waitress interrupts to take their orders, and Lance scrambles for his menu. He’d been so caught up in the conversation, in Keith that the thought of food hadn’t even crossed his mind despite the gnawing hunger in his belly. He scans the choices quickly, picking some cheap pasta dish at random before handing his menu over with a smile.

“Well,” Keith says, leaning back in his chair with a quirk of his lips, “we’re doing this all wrong, you know?”

“We? I think it’s just me.” Lance chuckles on a breath. “You can at least remember what we talked about last night whereas I don’t remember a single detail about you.”

And it bugs him, it truly does. He wants to know more about Keith, not just his likes and hobbies and favorite color, but his quirks, his insecurities, what he’s feeling when he’s nervous or scared or happy. He wants to memorize the touch of his fingers, the slope of his nose, the press of his lips. He wants it all and then more.

So much more.

Keith offers a smile, small but secretive as he waves away Lance’s worry. “It was just the usual boring small talk. Didn’t get that far into it, honestly.” The curve of his smile sharpens knowingly. “We had other common interests to explore.”

“So you’ve said.” Lance picks up his utensils, unrolling them and folding his napkin on his lap trying to distract himself for the heat coloring his cheeks. “I’m trying to make up for what I missed on that front as well.”

Keith chuckles. “Clearly. But usually, dinner comes before dessert.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“No. Just an observation.” 

“I’m just taking what I was promised.” Lance leans forward, jabbing a finger at Keith. “I believe you agreed to a thorough re-enactment.”

A chuckle, a shrug, and Keith leans on the table to meet Lance in the middle. “So I did.”

“And I need some information,” Lance presses on, trying to drown out the frantic thump of his heart. Keith is so close, it would be too easy to just reach out and—

The music overhead changes, something quieter and slow at the start allowing the chatter from the other tables to infiltrate their little bubble. Lance blinks, suddenly very aware that he’s in a public space, that if he can hear other conversations, they can hear him. And see them.

Reluctantly, Lance leans back, curbing his urges. They’ve already broken so many rules of first date etiquette and he’s not too keen on getting kicked out of the restaurant for disturbing other guests with excessive PDA. 

It would make for a memorable date that’s for sure.

Keith laughs, light and easy and Lance’s stomach swoops at the sound. “Why do I feel like this is an interrogation?”

“Because you hold all the answers, my friend.” Lance throws his arms wide with a grin to match. “Now, the most burning question: why me?"

Keith seems startled. “Why you?”

“Yeah, at the bar,” Lance elaborates. “I don’t know if it’s escaped your notice but I’m a bit of a mess. And you’re still gorgeous.”

Keith huffs around a knowing smile. “Pot meet kettle.” 

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Keith’s even gaze leaves no room for argument but Lance has never been one to give up that easily.

“You let me wear your very expensive jacket home—"

“Not on purpose,” Keith interjects but Lance steamrolls right through.

"—and I know how much it is, I looked it up. So, why?” he finishes. 

“Because you were cold.” And Keith’s tone is so matter-of-factly, head cocked, brow pinched that Lance can’t help but laugh. Even so, the corner of Keith’s lips twitch, cracking into the hint of a smile as he grumbles, “And you wouldn’t shut up about it.”

With a hum, Lance rests his elbow on the table, head in his hand. “Ah, yes that does sound like me. But still, I could have just disappeared and sold your stuff off for a pretty penny.”

“You probably should have,” Keith concedes with a wicked smile.

“Which leads me to my next question.” Lance tilts his head, considering Keith briefly. He changed his clothes, swapped them out for slightly lighter tones and a smarter look. Still well-tailored and casual but tipping more into the business side. An effort was made to impress and the blush returns to Lance’s cheeks as he trips over the question. “What the hell do you do?”

Keith looks like he expected this question, pride setting his eyes alight. “I’m training to get my pilot’s license.”

A pleasant warm tingle rushes through Lance’s fingers. “Really? That’s so cool! I’ve always been fascinated with flying.” And Lance means it. He had considered majoring in aeronautical engineering but the only schools he could afford denied his application one by one until he knew it just wasn’t meant to be.

But that door closing also led him to discover his love for teaching.

Keith’s eyes dance. “Me too. Ever since I was a kid.” He pauses then, smile turning sly. “But that’s not what you were asking about.”

Lance starts to object with words of assurance, determined to show he truly cares. Because he does care, he cares so deeply and loves that Keith loves what he does. But when he meets Keith’s mischievous gaze, he knows there are no hard feelings, that he understands the curiosity, and Lance shakes his head, worrying his lips between his teeth.

“You know the app Atlas?” Keith starts, nonchalant and relaxed in his chair. Lance nods. “That was our idea.”

Lance blinks. “You started Atlas?”

Keith nods, taking a sip of his water so casually as if he hadn’t just admitted he invented one of the fastest-growing apps on the market. “With my brother. I came up with the initial idea my last month of high school but my brother expanded on it, grew it, and developed it. He roped his husband into programming for us and it just grew from there. Long story short, four years later the three of us had a company worth over seventy-five million dollars. I sold my portion back to my brother and his husband so I could finally pursue what I wanted. He gave me the car as a parting gift.”

Lance lets out a long low whistle. “Damn. I’m in the presence of royalty here.”

“Not even a little.” Keith waves off his statement. “It’s my brother who’s the face of it all anyway.”

Ah yes, Takashi Shirogane, the broad-shouldered, kind-hearted CEO who would’ve easily made the top ten most eligible bachelors if he wasn’t already happily married. “I’ve definitely seen him on several covers,” Lance admits. And coveted them too but he wasn’t about to tell Keith that. Besides, he has a much better prize sitting across from him at the table.

Their food arrives shortly after—Lance is pleasantly surprised his random choice pasta actually looks and smells amazing—and the conversation lulls if only briefly in favor of digging in. It picks back up quickly though as Keith regales Lance with the stupid things he said the night before, how he’s a terrible shot at pool, and that his flirting gets cheesier the drunker he gets. Lance wants to bury himself in a hole by the end. Honestly, it’s a goddamn miracle Keith didn’t just walk away as far as Lance is concerned, let alone that he’s here right now willingly on a date.

“Which brings me back to my first question of why?” Lance asks again, twirling pasta on his fork. “I was a menace it sounds like.”

Keith shrugs. “It was endearing.” He ducks his head to hide the flush creeping along his cheeks. Lance smiles around a mouthful of pasta. “You’re also quite easy on the eyes, so that helps.”

The warmth in Lance blooms.

From there the conversation evolves into everything and anything as they learn about each other, from Keith’s dog Kosmo and his penchant for chewing anything to tales of Lance’s nieces and nephews. And Lance is amazed at how easy it is, like talking to a friend he’s known for years, jokes and banter rolling off their tongues in equal measure heightened by heated looks and fond smiles. 

And it scares him how bad he wants this. This right here. With Keith. For as long as he can.

True to his word, Keith pays but not without a fight from Lance. He wants to prove himself, that he can provide for both of them just as much as Keith, and though it is mostly a charade at this point, he still desperately wants to. Because this boy right here, Lance would do anything for him. It doesn’t matter though as Keith pulls the check out of his grip with a crow of triumph and all but shoves his card at the amused waitress. 

“Fine, but I’m getting the next one,” Lance pouts.

Too late, he realizes what he’s said and desperately wants to take the presumptuous words back. But the hope and joy radiating from Keith’s face settles his worries instantly. “Deal,” he agrees but the glint in his eyes tells Lance he’ll have to fight him again next time around.

And that’s just fine by Lance. Hell, he’ll happily fight him every time if it means there are more dates, more meet-ups, more times he can see Keith. 

It’s nearly eleven by the time Keith pulls up in front of Lance’s apartment, the purr of the Ferrari ceding to the stillness of the night as he cuts the engine. Lance’s heart is pounding in the close proximity, his confidence fluctuating between surging and flagging as he wars with himself on how much is too much for a first date. 

Keith makes the decision for him.

The world fades as he kisses him, until it’s nothing more than Keith’s lips on his, the hyper rhythm of his heart pounding through his ears. He moves, shifting in his seat, turning into Keith as Keith leans forward and threads his fingers through the hair at Lance’s nape, pulling him forward and deepening the kiss, parting his lips in invitation. 

Lance takes it eagerly.

And he’s not drunk, he’s not but he may be drunk off Keith which is his only excuse for the way his hands grasp for Keith’s neck, his chest, his hips, feeling, touching, exploring as Keith moves with him, opening up further to allow their tongues to slide against one another. Something surges up in Lance, a galaxy of stars and space that he’d gladly leave the world behind for and okay yes, he’s very much drunk on Keith. 

When he finds bare skin at the juncture between Keith’s shirt and the waistband of his jeans, it’s all over.

Lance groans against Keith’s lips as he tries to push even closer only to be hindered by something so inconsequential like the center console of the car. And that just won’t do. He needs _more._

Reluctantly, Lance breaks away with a wet smack, too focused on getting over this wall between them and dumping himself into Keith’s lap to feel embarrassed. Keith chuckles, hand still at his nape in a comforting heated touch that both grounds and pushes Lance to the edges of his sanity as he struggles to maneuver himself over the console. It takes effort, too little space and too long of legs but he eventually manages to scramble over with a frustrated huff to fall unceremoniously on top of Keith. They both grunt.

When Lance pulls back, hands braced on the door’s armrest to prop himself up, his breath hitches.

The streetlight above casts Keith in ethereal liquid gold, cutting across his face, the bridge of his nose, and setting his eyes aflame with more than just lust. They pierce Lance’s heart, his soul, deep into his very being, carving out a space to reside forevermore. Lance could stay just like this, drowning in the rich blue-grey of his dazzling gaze, deliriously happy lost at sea in the waves of his heartbeat.

And when Keith opens his mouth, Lance falls further with the simple shy breathless, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispers back.

This time when Keith kisses him, it’s softer, less urgent and intense, but no less passionate as he opens immediately to Lance. The hand at Lance’s nape threads further up his scalp, touch like fire with every push of his tongue and beat of his racing heart. And Lance is sure he’ll drown, caught in the tantalizing heat of lips and fingers and breath sending shivers down his spine. Lance grasps Keith’s wrist to steady himself, feeling his pulse in tune with his own staccato rhythm.

He loses himself in it, crowding Keith against the door to get more, more, _more_ of him and it’s still not enough. He wants to breathe in every part of him, feel his skin warm under his fingers, the goosebumps alight in the wake of his touch. He wants to lavish him in kisses and caresses, give and take and feel him shake and moan and shiver beneath his body. He wants, he wants, _he wants._

The car horn blasts sharp and quick through the silence, startling them apart and Keith knocks his head back against the window with a painful crack.

“Sorry sorry!” Lance sputters out, removing his elbow from the steering wheel and the stupid, inconsiderate, cockblocking horn. He reaches for Keith, concerned.

But Keith is laughing, soft chuckles giving way to a full barking bellowing laugh. It’s so infectious, so endearing that Lance catches alight and joins him, falling against his chest as their laughter mingles into one euphoric melody. A song Lance would kill to hear for the rest of his life.

Too soon, too soon. He can’t entertain thoughts like that. Not yet. Not when they’ve just begun. 

But Keith is right, they’ve done this all wrong. Jumped straight past the first chapter and nearly to the third before finally backtracking. And Lance finds that he doesn’t mind. In fact, he’s relieved. It made things easier in the end—after a bit of panic on his part—to not have to worry so much about taking the first leap, to overthink his choices, and weigh the consequences. Granted, he always will but the overwhelming pressure is weaker, more manageable because they’ve already rounded the bases he usually would fret over. And now Lance can stand on solid ground with the knowledge that Keith stands right beside him, both sure where their feelings lie for one another.

It opens so many doors.

“Look,” Lance begins, invigorated, mesmerized by the glow of the streetlight washing through Keith’s dark hair. “Do you uh—it’s not much, just a studio apartment but uh do you maybe want to come up?” 

The end of their time together tonight is a tangible thing now and Lance desperately wants to stave it off as long as he can. Perhaps until the morning sun washes this night away indefinitely.

He wonders what it would be like to wake up next to Keith, to rouse him from sleep with gentle kisses, to bring him coffee or tea or whatever his guilty morning pleasure might be. He hopes to find out, to be the only one Keith wakes up next to from now on.

_From now on._

Keith raises an eyebrow, lips curling at the edges. “Are you going to keep your hands to yourself this time?”

With a shake of his head, Lance smirks, trailing a featherlight finger over the exposed skin of Keith’s waist. “Absolutely not.”

“Good.”

And heat washes up Lance’s neck as Keith’s eyes alight in a smoldering blaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, that's where I was planning to end it. Obviously I could write a small explicit continuation depicting their first night together but I haven't decided yet. If you have strong opinions on that matter, leave a comment and let me know. Or just leave a comment to say hi or something. Like all authors, I live off comments.
> 
> Thanks for reading! As always check out my Instagram for more Klance and VLD drabbles and short fics: [staymagwrites](https://www.instagram.com/staymagwrites/)
> 
> UPDATE: A oneshot continuation of this story is in the works :D

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my Instagram for more Klance and VLD drabbles and short fics: [staymagwrites](https://www.instagram.com/staymagwrites/)


End file.
